You Should See Me in a Crown
by HereticWithaHeart
Summary: Sam and Dean and the petite little woman they now protect like a little sister make a stop in a small Illinois town in the hopes of catching a break from hunting this Halloween season. But much to their dismay, much darker forces lay dormant until every fall when the goblins and ghouls come out to celebrate and the children in costumes knock on each door looking for a treat.
1. Come Little Children

Human beings were quite an ignorant bunch. Ignorant, and often times, dim in the mind. This was a fact that Zachary Dernbach was very well accustomed to. As an alternative leaning, band merch toting high school boy often perceived as a pitiable edgelord who held a general distaste for his peers, he also didn't have the highest opinion of the human race as a whole. The amount of times he's burst into lectures regarding how scummy and selfish his race was like bursting into song and dance was no longer able to be counted on two hands. As such, not very many people wished to associate themselves with him and his smudged Billie Joe-inspired makeup and his floppy, overgrown fringe. This was precisely why, just like every other day, he sat alone on the school bus with his earbuds buried deep into his skull, blasting his heavy tunes at maximum volume. Even through the blaring guitars, scratchy vocals, he could practically hear his mother nagging at him to turn it down lest he go deaf before he graduates college.

' _Pfft! As if I'd even subject myself to such a torture!'_ he often thought.

Glaring down at his phone screen, he wrapped his gloved fingers around the strap of his bag, the only remaining strap he should say, as the other one had snapped right off courtesy of his razor sharp, sterling silver pair of scissors. Of course his mother had insisted he get a new one, as carrying that sad excuse for a bag couldn't have been helpful or convenient in any way. But he'd merely brushed off her seemingly (in his head) unwarranted concerns and brandished his ratty bag anyway, almost relishing in the way people looked upon it like it was a wounded animal.

Just as he was rising to his feet, another girl from across the aisle, the neighbor just a few houses down from his, was also rising to stand. As such, both of their shoulders collided and the girl, just slightly shorter than him, gasped lightly.

"Sorry, I-"

"Watch where you're going, _sheep_." He spat indignantly, making the girl stare at him in shock. She didn't know what to say to such a brazen expletive, and he didn't give her a chance to shoot back before he was bounding down the aisle, large black boots almost making the whole bus shake and ignoring the driver who'd all but rolled his eyes at him.

Once he was free from the confines of that flatulent odored prison with wheels, he ran a pale hand through his dark hair, readjusted his bag over his shoulder and started toward home, where he would shed his heavy layers, lie in bed and listen to the new Palaye Royale record and then maybe play some PUBG for the remainder of the night.

With this intent in mind, he waltzed along the sidewalk, indifferently observing the neighboring houses surrounding him, sometimes glancing at little critters who came crawling out of the woods in which he walked alongside. Since it was mid October, it wasn't very uncommon to hear muttering voices off in the distance, muffled by the autumn leaves, the thick bushes, as kids and teens often liked to go exploring around this time of year. There was a time when Zachary himself would partake in these spooky affairs, but as the years went by, he grew rather bored of it. The eerie ambience it held no longer gave him the same thrilling sense of unease, and there was nothing to find within that thick green foliage anyway. So why bother?

He rolled his eyes as he pushed his earbuds in deeper, hoping to drown out those irritating mumblings and screams of brief terror. With how loud he often listened to his music, such a task wasn't hard to complete. It _shouldn't_ have been hard to complete. But for some reason today, even through the growling vocals and reverberating bar chords, he could still hear those children shrieking about their horrifying wonderment, their feet crunching through the valley of gnarled vines.

Growling, Zachary ripped out his earbuds and scourged the area for the kids responsible for such sounds, but none were to be heard. They must have been deep in the woods, then. But if that's the case, then how were they able to be so loud?

Zachary shook his head and played it off as just kids being annoying little kids. He knew from babysitting experience that they often had this uncanny ability to be as loud as a sonic boom even from dozens of feet away. It was one of those little vermin's many talents, which of course, only made him want to scratch his eardrums out with a sharpened butcher's knife.

He tried to ignore it and put his music back in, he'd be home in a few minutes anyway, but before he could go back to drowning out the rest of the world, he felt a tiny little tug on his long coat, like someone trying to get his attention. He startled ever so slightly and with wide eyes and quirked brows, he turned around to look at whatever was behind him.

Standing there easily over three feet shorter than he was with muddied knees and a crestfallen face, was a little girl, couldn't have been older than five or six years old. She had a chubby hand up to her face, rubbing her cheek nervously, pure brown eyes glued down to the asphalt. Zachary sighed, but didn't bother to face her fully.

"What do you want, kid?"

His tone of voice wasn't quite as harsh as it had been with that other neighbor girl, but he realized he still didn't sound like the nicest fellow around. And if he were being honest, he didn't really care too much. But something about speaking to a small child compelled him to tone his attitude down just slightly. After all, he wasn't a complete douchebag.

"I…" Her voice was soft, light as a feather, its soundwaves floating through the air like snowflakes in a winter breeze. He raised a single brow even further, prompting her to go on. He tried to be as patient as possible, but after a while, he motioned for her to finish her sentence.

"What is it? What do you want?"

She hesitated once more.

"M-...My mama. I-It's my mama."

"What about your ma? You lose her or something?" Zachary finally turned around to face her, shifting his weight to one hip and crossing his arms. The child shook her head, curly brown hair bouncing around her round, flushed cheeks. "Well then what do you need? Shouldn't you be with her?"

"She, um, she sent me to go get help."

"Help?"

Now this peeked his attention. Brows still sewn together, he stepped close and began to reach for his phone inside his jacket pocket, still connected to his earbuds. The music could still be heard but he swiftly unplugged the cord from the jack, ceasing the muted, grungy shouts.

The child nodded in confirmation.

"She got hurt."

"Uh, o-okay. Um, where is she?"

The child pointed off to the side instantly, toward the woods. Goosebumps rose along his arms as well as the begging question, what the hell was a mother doing in there with a child? Surely there wasn't any reason for a parent to bring their kid into such a place. It was kind of creepy when he thought about it, and the thought of going in there himself creeped him out even more. It usually wouldn't, but he didn't know this strange child and he certainly didn't know her mom. She might just be another one of his neighbors whom he's never taken the time to meet, but still.

He glanced off in the direction she pointed and huffed.

"Alright, I'll for an ambulance or some-"

"She needs help." The little girl cut him off.

"Yeah, I know. Just, give me a second, I'll call-"

"She needs it now!" Her shrill voice escalated into a shout, catching Zach off guard. "Please…"

Sighing, Zachary ran a hand through his hair again and gestured for the little girl to lead the way. Instead of doing so, however, she snatched his wrist in her surprisingly strong grip and began dragging him into the daunting forest. He would have protested, and he kind of did by asking her what she thought she was doing, but he supposed the child was simply too afraid for her mother to care much about social conventions and being polite. So he simply allowed for her to pull him away, wishing she'd chosen someone else to help her. But he couldn't just leave her all alone, at least not without looking like a major asshole.

Curled and sharp branches grabbed for his jacket, scratching at his shoulders and arm as he was forced to blunder right through them, and he struggled to keep pace with this kid. "Hey, where are you-why did your mom bring you here?" he tried to ask, but she wouldn't respond. " _Hello?_ " he tried again. But still nothing. He tried pulling himself free of her grasp, but her little fingers only tightened around him and he groaned.

Finally, after several minutes of trying and failing to dodge all of these obstacles snagging on his clothes, the child stopped dead in her tracks all of a sudden, and Zach found himself standing at the edge of a large clearing that he hadn't known had been here. It was about the size of his backyard, not too large, not too small. The grass's color looked considerably duller and was matted to the ground. In the center, towards the back edge of this clearing, stood a tall sycamore maple tree, a stump as thick as his pudgy father's broad shoulders and leaves as dense and compacted toward the top as a dark afro utop someone's head. He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger for a moment.

"Kid, what the hell are we doing here?"

"She's up there." She replied calmly, ignoring his question. He gazed down at her incredulously, switching between looking upon her and the tree at which she'd pointed to. There was no way her mother had climbed that monstrous thing, he refused to believe it!

"What, up there?"

The child nodded. He was silent for a long moment, waiting for her to burst out into hysterical giggles and reveal that she'd only wanted to play a joke on him, but her face remained as straight and impassive as ever. He crossed his arms again.

"Uh, if you seriously think I'm gonna climb all the way up there then you're outta luck, kid."

This time, her stoic composure faltered and she jumped rapidly a few times, all in quick succession. She was a pot of boiling hot water, ready to simmer over. "Pleeeeeeaaase! My mama's up there!"

"I'm sorry, but I think I should just-"

"MY MAMA'S UP THERE!" The child shrieked.

Zachary reeled back at her sudden outburst, almost afraid she'd kick him in the shin or something. Just to appease her, as clearly she wasn't joking, she just had a weird mother, he rolled his eyes and grumbled. "Fine! Fine, whatever." He then stepped closer to the tree, marveling at its astonishing size before approaching it carefully, like it might roar and eat him alive if he got too close. Absurd thought, he knew this very well. But he couldn't help his inner little boy was poking his head back from years of watching horror flicks instead of Yo Gabba Gabba, warning him to get away.

But he pushed that part of himself back down and now stood only a foot or two away from its stump, neck craning to get a good look at the crowded leaves. Although he wasn't exactly sure he was looking for, as he was finding it hard to believe a full grown woman had climbed up there. But it was clear this little girl would throw a fit if he didn't humor her. So he, humor her he did.

Scratching his head, he called out to the phantom lady.

"Uh...hello?" His voice echoed just slightly. Of course he wasn't expecting for anyone to answer, and lo and behold, no one did. He turned back to look at the little girl with expectant eyes. She but only continued to stare worriedly up at it. He sighed for the thousandth time, it felt like. And then he tried again. "Hello?" a little louder. "Your, uh, your daughter is looking for you!"

Still nothing. He turned back to the child.

"Kid, I really don't think your ma's up there."

"She's up there! I swear!"

"Ughh!" He turned back to the tree, though he knew he was speaking to nothing but air.

"Look, I don't have time for this! I gotta get home!"

And with that, he spun on his heel to walk away just as the child started jumping again and grabbing at his sleeve, begging him to stay. This time, he was more than ready to just brush her off and leave.

"She's up there! She's up there! See? Look! She is, I swear! I see her!"

"Well then apparently I'm blind, then, 'cause I-" Zachary had turned toward the tree one final time as he spoke, gesturing toward it like her absence was obvious. Because, well, _it was_. But then, his voice was cut short when something came slithering out from the dark leaves- _an arm_. A pale, pasty white arm with the skin that looked like its consistency was actual marble.

" _What the fu_..." he couldn't finish his sentence as he gawked at this appendage sticking out from the hair of the tree. How feminine and slender it looked, its fingernails the color of blood, and the way it moved was slow and hypnotic, its fingers curling and uncurling a few times, searching. Searching for something to grab onto. It seemed to sense Zachary's presence, and the little girl beside him cooed in delight.

"I did it, mama! I did it! Are you proud?"

Certain he must be dreaming, Zachary gulped and took a step back, intending to run, run as far away as possible. Dream or not, he may have been moody and edgy more often than not, but he definitely wasn't stupid. He'd seen practically every horror movie in existence, he knew better than to stick around.

And it seemed whatever this thing was, knew it as well.

Before he could take another step back, something snagged on to his foot and when he looked down to see what it was, he was appalled to find it was the ground itself leeching onto him, preventing his flee. It was contracting ever so slowly, like it was a living, breathing creature, and when he looked at it for too long, _it blinked back at him eyes wide open eyes_.

Zachary let out a blood curdling scream and tried to yank himself free, but the grass held on, strength as strong as cement. He couldn't move either of his feet no matter how much he struggled. The little girl beside him giggled like it was all a big game to her.

Wrenching his neck down to scowl at her, he could have fainted right then when he realized this...this was not a normal little girl.

Her once sun kissed complexion had now paled to a cold, gray tone and though her hair remained the same, her mouth grew wider and wider so. With sharp shark teeth poking through her thin, chapped lips, she wore a great chesire grin taking up nearly half her head, and her eyes were blank, any sign of her pupils were long gone. Faint red veins took their place, instead. And her face as a whole was considerably much more gaunt, cheeks and eyes sunken in so it almost looked like she was a skeleton. The way she peered up at Zachary had his heart skipping a beat, fear's hand clamping down on it and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing…

The arm slinked ever so slowly toward Zachary, and he leaned back as far as he could without falling over. But it was for nought, as the arm had slithered its smooth fingers onto the side of his neck, sliding upward onto his cheek. Its touch alone sent icy tingles throughout his whole body, and suddenly, he was in a trance.

His knees had lost all their strength, and so he fell down into a kneel without realizing it. The arm slowly retreated back into the leaves like a snake going back into its cave. But his gaze remained glued upwards into where it had gone, and from above him, he could make out something dark red, and glowing brighter than a flashlight. It was a pair of eyes, and just below them, a wide smile even more unsettling than the little girl's, with shiny white razor sharp teeth. It was like a demented version of the chesire cat, for the eyes and mouth were the only things he could see.

" _My, my. How very proud I am, indeed. He will make a fine footman_."


	2. Toccata

Sam and Dean Winchester walted their way carelessly into the first diner in this town that they could find, one of which they hadn't gotten the name of. They were so famished, the place could have been serving human meat and they wouldn't have known the difference. Their newest addition to their little party, a small blonde girl who looked too sweet to be associated with men of their likes, Lola, trailed behind them. Her pale blonde locks were brushed back neatly into a low bun, and she had her overcoat wrapped tightly around herself to protect her skin from the biting cold October winds. It genuinely baffled her as to how those boys didn't bat an eyelash at the weather. But maybe this was just another example of how delicate she was compared to them. It would have agitated her, but honestly, she was simply too exhausted to care.

Sam and Dean claimed a booth toward the back, seated across from each other. She decided to take the spot next to Sam, as sometimes Dean had a habit of letting certain things slip out without much consideration for the poor man or woman right next to him. Things that, to put it lightly, didn't smell like flowers and sunshine. Plus, she had a rather soft spot for Sam, anyway. Not that she liked Dean any less, it was just that, well, he'd become a bit more of a father figure, what with him often being the more sensible of the two anyway. And even when he didn't realize it, his paternal instincts often kicked in around her despite having no children of his own. He couldn't help being a little protective over Lola.

The only thing that kind of spoiled it for the two was Dean's often incessant teasing about how they should just hook up already, since she practically leeches herself onto him every chance she got, or at least that's what he said. Rest assured, if there was anything romantic between the two, they certainly wouldn't be posing as father and daughter during hunts when the occasion called for such a sham.

Lola got herself situated, rubbing her arms for warmth and such and all the while, she listened, amused, at the boy's back and forth banter.

"Look I'm telling you, the proof is in every grammy they've ever won! All the praise they've gotten over the years, _Meg White is a good drummer!_ " Sam argued while Dean basically rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, in a room full of first graders she is. Even that's questionable, Sammy, let's face the facts. A ten year old could easily out-drum her with about five minutes of practice beforehand."

"Ten year olds usually aren't in first grade."

"Irrelevant," Dean quickly brushed that comment aside. "Point is, her drumming was subpar at best and the only reason she ever saw any success was because of Jack's _actual_ musical ability and his inventive creativity. I swear, the guy's gonna have an entire gold statue of himself inducted into the rock and roll hall of fame one day."

"I'm not disagreeing with you on that, I know the he's a brilliant man, I'm not arguing otherwise. I'm saying Meg White was also a brilliant woman."

"Hardly!"

"Do you know any other drummer out there who played with such raw and primitive power? Who plays with such simplistic beats that still somehow add so much to the music without making it seem lazy and uncreative?"

"Raw, primitive, call it whatever you want. But at the end of the day, if it wasn't for Jack, their music would've gone down the shitter within the first week of their debut dropping."

"I'm pretty sure The White Stripes wouldn't have been nearly as great if Meg's drumming was the same as say, Lars Ulrich."

"Well _no shit_ it wouldn't have been! Lars Ulrich is a _metal_ drummer! White Stripes were a _blues rock_ duo, god, that's like comparing Green Day to The Rolling Stones! How asinine could you possibly get?" Dean asked rhetorically, seeming to be genuinely offended by that comparison.

"Okay first of all, they were not _just_ a blues rock duo, and second, you're overthinking what I just said! My point was that had her drumming style been any different or any more advanced than it was, that band wouldn't have made it as far as they did."

"Yeah well if she's as brilliant as you say then how come she hasn't made any contribution to the community since the break up, huh?" Dean tested. Sam had gotten a bit riled up by that challenge and was clearly more than ready to rip his brother a new one. But before he could get any louder than they already were, Lola sighed and stepped in as the mediator, as she usually did.

"Can we all just agree that no matter if you think Meg was good or not, the band will still always be cherished for their originality and creativity?"

"You mean for _Jack's_ originality and creativity?"

" _Dean_."

"What!?"

"Good afternoon boys, and madmoiselle, my name is Debbie and I'll be your server today. Could I start you fellas off with some drinks?"

A perky waitress in a blue pin striped uniform had come bouncing up to their table with a close eyed smile and flaming red hair. She was probably ignoring their argument entirely, and Lola wished she had the ability to do such a thing when she was stuck in the same car as them for hours upon hours at a time. If only she had something to block their bickering whenever her amusement from it faded into just raw irritation.

Dean was of course the first one to speak up.

"I'll take a Bud Light, if you would." He flashed the waitress his most charming of smiles, but had virtually no effect on her much to his disappointment. Why he always felt the need to hit on almost every woman they crossed paths with everywhere they went, neither Sam nor Lola would ever understand. But, whatever floats his boat they supposed.

"I'll also have a Bud Light, if you wouldn't mind. And-" Sam placed a gentle hand upon Lola's shoulder. "-she'll have a black coffee."

Lola smiled to herself as she'd only known the boys for a few months and already it almost felt as if she'd known them for her entire life. Yes, this was such a minute little moment in time in which Sam had demonstrated in such an insignificant way how well he knew her. But she couldn't help but feel warm inside anyway.

"Alright, I'll have those right out for you folks!" And with that, the waitress spun around to go take other orders and such. Sam caught Dean's eye lingering for just a tad bit too long, and he would have scolded him for at, but at least he was being discreet this time.

Lola gave both the boys a playfully stern grin, like she was waiting for their previous argument to be revived. Instead of hopping right back into it, however, it seemed they were both challenging each other, waiting for their opponent to make some kind of snide comment under his breath that would give them an excuse to reignite their verbal combat.

"Are we...done?" She tested. The boys exchanged flippant looks before Sam held his hand out for him to shake.

"Truce."

Dean eyed it for a long moment, the corners of his lips pulled up just slightly. He then held his own hand out in front of him, reeled his head back and made a scraggly, gurgling sound in the back of his throat. Sam didn't have a lot of time to comprehend it before he'd hacked a wad of spittle onto his hand and gripped Sam's with a solid grasp. Had Sam realized this was what he was going to do, he would have pulled away a lot sooner.

Sam's mouth contorted into a horrified 'o' shape, eyes bulging. "What...the hell!? Is wrong with you? Oh gross!" He lunged across the booth and wiped his palm against his brother's shoulder. Dean only snickered like a devious child, both of them regressing back into constantly bickering children for a hot second. Lola almost felt like their tired mother always trying to quell their often juvenile arguments.

"What, you never did spit-handshakes as a kid?"

"No! Dean, that's so vile! Such an easy way to catch diseases, dear god." He continued to wipe his palm with a napkin from the stack right next to him. "But why am I so surprised? If it has to do with saliva, you're all in."

"Not all the time, but, y'know, we all love a good spit roast every once in a while."

"Dean!" Lola slammed an ivory hand on the table. "Not at the table!"

"What is so gross about a spit roast?" Sam looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. "If anything, that's more relevant to the situation than anything else he's said. _God, I never thought I'd be defending anything you say_."

"No," she shook her head rapidly. "No, it's not."

"Wha-how is-"

"Urban Dictionary it, I'm not saying shit."

"And how do _you_ know what a spit roast is, huh Blondie?" Dean smirked. "Not as sweet and innocent as we all thought."

"You _shut up_."

"I'm not sure I wanna know what it is, now." Sam piped in. Lola rubbed her temple in annoyance and embarrassment.

"Can we please not talk about spit roasting anymore? One more word out of you and I swear to god, I'm booking it all the way back to Detroit." Lola threatened. Dean raised his hands in mock defeat, although that mischievous little smirk never left his lips. Sam and Lola did their best to ignore it.

The topic of conversation had smoothly transitioned into something a little less sexually grotesque when Lola caught sight of the redhead waitress coming their way in her peripheral. Her strut was confident and bold, hips swaying with each step as she neared, and for a moment, Lola paused and found herself staring as she often did with females more often than males, which often spurned some teasing from Dean, asking if she was questioning in a ribbing fashion. For but a moment, the waitress was an audacious damsel in a picturesque fantasy as she stared with an unreadable face. But the fantasy was quickly stripped of its shimmery filter when a man, no, a boy ran up to the waitress from behind. With dark hair sticking up in random, sloppy directions, he brandished a gritty steak knife, lifting it high above his head and more than ready to bring it down upon the poor, unsuspecting woman. Since Sam was sort of stuck against the wall inside the booth, it was Dean and Lola who shot up from their seats. Sam followed close behind.

"HEY!" Dean shouted as Lola dove for the waitress, wrapping a petite yet strong arm around her waist and yanking her out of harm's way. The beverages she'd meant to deliver had of course, gone crashing down and spilled all over their shoes; the waitress's white sneakers and Lola's black combat boots.

While Lola held the poor woman close, Dean was quick to snatch the boy's paled wrist, pull him in and force him to spin around so his back was held hostage against Dean's concrete chest. The boy tried stabbing Dean in a fit of fury, but when Dean held his arm, firm, he'd resorted to kicking and screaming.

"Hey, HEY! Calm yourself!" He'd ordered, but the kid in his grasp was practically frothing at the mouth and his shouts and curses were deafening to all ears, including his own. The waitress cowered against Lola, too surprised to realize she was clinging on to a little blonde woman even short than she as if she were a well muscled man.

"What is wrong with him?" The woman asked, fear evident in her tone. Lola shrugged, shaking her head back and forth while the boys struggled to get the boy to calm down.

"Someone call the cops!" another patron had ordered, and about five others were already pulling out their phones and placing them up against their ear. The boy in Dean's arms wasn't calming down in the slightest, in fact, as the seconds ticked by he only seemed to get more violent. Dean was starting to have a hard time in keeping his attacks at bay. When Sam approached to try and intervene, lessen his brother's load, he was promptly met with a heavy boot to the groin, causing the man's face to pucker up; lips contorting into the likes of an undulating rectum. His groan sounded like air squealing out of a balloon as he slowly sank down to the floor.

"Okay," Lola had finally had enough. She left the waitress's side, grabbed the nearest coffee mug from a booth, which was still being used when it was taken, and approached. The guy who'd she'd taken the mug from was too distracted with the scene before him to give a damn about his stolen drink. He simply watched as Lola carelessly dumped the contents out onto the floor and walked in front of the writhing boy. Without giving it much thought, she slammed the mug down against his head. Thick chunks of white ceramic pieces rained down from his head, and a spot on his head that had taken the brunt of the blow was already beginning to seep with blood. Although the boy had slumped over, going limp in Dean's arms.

She dropped the disembodied handle onto the floor and sighed.

"Everywhere we go. I swear, it's like the havoc is in love with us."


End file.
